Deceive
by bunnytales
Summary: Making no money off this. All characters belong to Chris Fedak.
1. Chapter 1

Deceive: 1

 _Tonight, NYsCene ventures out of its comfort zone to cover real breaking news: the funeral of magician Cameron Black_. The Reporter pasted on a purposeful solemn expression and approached a group of dark-clothed people making their way up the wide steps. The cell phone was a badge of honour, ready to record every important detail. She brandished it before her, made sure the video caught their drawn faces, the redness of their eyes.

"Good afternoon," she greeted them. "I'm Kelsey Keeler of _NYsCene,_ reporting on this sad occasion. So FBI Agent Kay Daniels, you were a close 'friend' of The Master of Deception, Cameron Black. That sounds like it might be a story in itself."

The FBI agent looked at her blankly for a minute before registering the cell phone. "No," she said. "What are you doing—"

The other FBI agent, whose name she couldn't quite remember (but that was ok, because _he_ probably wasn't sleeping with the dead magician), stepped forward then. "You can't be here," he said, his voice hard. He wanted her gone and fast — she felt a surge of excitement. This was relevant journalism, tense and in-your-face. She gripped the phone like a shield.

"I'm here reporting on this important story," she said, impressed with how confident her voice sounded. How professional. The sad people blinked at her with their red eyes. She offered them a sympathetic smile before continuing: "Reports have it that Cameron Black died in a bizarre case of mistaken identity involving the New York mob and some nasty diamond smugglers. Agent Daniels, care to comment?"

Agent Daniels stared at her long enough that Kelsey was almost ready to repeat the question. Then the woman muttered, "No comment," and pushed past her, grim. The other people followed like a sad little flock. They disappeared into the church.

Alone, Kelsey cut the cell phone video and headed for the subway. She couldn't wait to get back to her office to take a look at the footage. This was going to be good.

...

To be continued...

Note: this is a short start and I likely won't be updating for a couple of weeks as I'm currently in a hotel on vacation, typing on a dying IPAD. But one thing I am not forgetting to do is pester ABC daily about renewing our show! They have to start listening eventually...or someone does!


	2. Chapter 2

Deceive: 2

"I miss him."

"Gunter!" Dina exclaimed. "Don't talk like that."

"Well I do," Gunter snapped. "And I want to know what the hell he'd gotten himself into."

Dina sighed and shook her head. "I have no idea what was going on with him."

"We should have been watching more closely."

"Why?"

Gunter drained the last of his cold tea, made a face and stepped over to the sink with his mug. "Because things have been quiet around here."

"So?" Dina replied. "Quiet is a good thing."

"Ah," Gunter countered, half turning toward her with eyes narrowed and one finger raised to stab at the point. "You would think so, wouldn't you? But you'd be wrong. When things go quiet...that's when you have to keep both eyes open and your head on a swivel!"

Frowning, Dina did her best to follow. Like so many of the older man's trains of thought, however, this one had apparently rattled off without her. She pursed her lips for a moment and then tried gently bringing logic into it. "We couldn't have known. Cameron didn't tell us."

But Gunter was unappeased, standing straight-backed at the sink and glaring at the dirty mug with a ferocity he rarely showed. Dina thought about trying again and decided against it. There was nothing to be done now - Mike and Kay were handling things. She eyed Gunter's unyielding posture, the scowl etching his face, and sighed again as she left the kitchen.

...

Kay scanned the list once more, and the lines seemed to blur together. It seemed like yesterday, walking through a scorched airport hangar to find a stranger casually inspecting their evidence. "I can't believe there've been this many cases," she murmured.

"What's that?"

"The cases we've worked with the Deception team. I'd lost track of how much we've done."

Nodding toward his own copy of the records, Mike offered a smile that seemed faintly wistful. "I hadn't really thought about it either," he admitted. "But even though this is a pretty long list, I'm not really liking anyone on it. We've got plenty of bad actors but few who really stand out. And even fewer with the pull to do something like this from prison."

Kay scowled. "Sasha, maybe, but why? Damn it - we've got Russian mobsters, disgruntled inventors, crooked cops, not to mention the cartels...and nothing solid."

"This was a professional job," Mike added. "And I find it strange, coming out of the blue. Why now?"

Her eyes ran back over the list of their wins, the cases they had solved with the help of their magician and his quirky little team. _Their_ quirky little team. That was the question. Why now?

...

To be continued...

Note: I'm back with a very short update. Jet lag is slowing me down somewhat, but I'm gearing up with this story and am eager to get back to reading on the site! For now I'm off to sleep (more). Thank you so much for the reviews and comments! As to the ongoing efforts to have the show renewed, I'm still on it! I was just over at the petition again (now over 23,000 signatures, I think) and commented to ABC once more about how much Deception deserves new life. Maybe I'll email Amazon studios again and see if they have anything more to say about picking it up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Deceive: 3**

 **2018**

They walked the alley, down past the remaining shreds of police tape and the conspicuously clean section of pavement and wall. The crime scene clean-up service had already done its work, assiduously scrubbing blood from every surface until there was nothing left to hint at trauma. The air still held a faint chemical smell.

"There's nothing left in here," Mike said softly. He looked at the asphalt, at the battered dumpster that was now polished and pushed back to its place against the wall. He looked at his partner. "Kay?"

She was staring at the skeletal remains of an old security camera, positioned above the back door of the massage parlour. Its lens was broken, a few wires trailing like shredded innards. It hadn't been functional in years. "Sometimes I hate this city," she murmured.

He nodded, moving past her. "Let's get out of here.

...

He stood watching the city traffic move past him. It flowed and ebbed with the changing lights, the rushing sound of it rising and then falling away with a mechanical regularity. He felt tired of it, detached and restless. There was too much movement and activity and he wanted to get out of there.

He watched and listened instead. Around him people also flowed and he scanned their faces for someone familiar. They were a sea of strangers. He turned in place again, again, again and saw an alley, filled with garbage and blowing newspapers and the rusting hulks of dumpsters. The sight of it made him shudder, but he could not go yet.

She had told him to wait.

...

 **2004**

 _"_ _Wait," she hissed. "You are too impatient."_

 _"_ _But you said—"_

 _"_ _I said we have to be careful."_

 _"_ _Those girls."_

 _"_ _What of them?"_

 _"_ _Who are they?"_

 _"_ _Just tarts. They are here to give the men company. Ignore them."_

 _"_ _They've seen us. Will they tell?"_

 _"_ _No. Who will they tell? Who will care what they say, anyway?"_

 _He followed her past the large main tent, past the trucks with their faded logo. Circul Dalca, advertised as a family operation, a traveling clan that would astound and entertain. In the fading dusk they slipped down a row of grimy trailers until she stopped, opened a battered door and ushered him inside. "Come," she said._

 _"_ _Is it…."_

 _"_ _My mother is not here, and my brother does not stay in with us – he has his own tent."_

 _Inside was a small kitchenette, plastic dishes piled in the sink and a tiny table half-covered with scarves, perfume bottles, a carved wooden box. Beyond it Cameron could see a double bed, the blankets rumpled. It took almost the width of the trailer, leaving a narrow access up one side. Beyond it was storage and a bathroom. The bed was sufficient for 2; no wonder the son had to sleep elsewhere._

 _She took his hand and pulled him past the kitchen table, in the direction of the bed that she and her mother undoubtedly shared, and he balked. "Wait," he squeaked, hating the panicky note in his own voice. "What are we—"_

 _Turning to him, she smirked and gave him a shove, and suddenly he was sitting on a worn sofa that stretched along the wall. He hadn't even noticed it._

 _"_ _What are we…what?" she cooed. She slipped closer and then was straddling him, her wiry arms around his neck, her slender body hard against his chest. "Did you think we are going to bed, sevgilim?"_

 _His racing pulse slowed and then immediately quickened again as her heat seemed to wash through him. Her lips were soft; she smelled of cinnamon and cloves. Vaguely he thought that he should be getting back to the room, to the inn where his father and brother were waiting. It was getting late; he had to spend some time rehearsing their newest routines._

 _She sighed against him, her breath hot in his neck, and he wrapped his arms more tightly around her._

...

 **2018**

Mike's eyes slipped over the information, categorizing, filing away data for further consideration, expertly sorting what could be dismissed from what should be looked at again. He scrolled down the screen, reached the end and moved on to the next file. His ears picked up snatches of Kay's phone conversation. She was ending the call, promising Dina she'd keep them informed, insisting they call with any change. _Any_ change, no matter how insignificant it seemed.

He swivelled his chair as she walked back to her desk. "What's happening?"

Kay sighed. "They've been noticing faint repetitive movements of his hands, almost like the motions of a card trick."

"So that's good…right? Any other progress?"

"No. No improvement in the bloodwork or his breathing."

"So it's still a waiting game. It hasn't been that long." Mike visualized the ICU, the sterile room, the machinery so encompassing that it dwarfed human bodies, putting their fragility and impermanence on display. It was a strange place that seemed to exist somewhere between hope and despair, its residents lingering between life and death.

"No," Kay replied slowly. "It hasn't been that long." She sat down at her desk, opened a file.

"So…did they say anything about those movements? Is that a good sign?"

Kay smiled sadly. "They said he might be dreaming."

...

He watched the traffic. He was alone in a swarm of suit-and-tie drones, determined couriers and the random tourist. And then he wasn't.

"You came," she said. It wasn't a question or an indication of surprise, just a statement.

He turned to face her. She'd shed the willowy lines of adolescence for the fuller curves of a woman. Her face had filled out. But she still had those dark eyes, radiant and knowing. "I came," he replied.

They walked together, her head not quite reaching his shoulder. His last growth spurt had happened after they'd parted and he more keenly felt the difference between them. Her thoughts had always been a mystery, but now she seemed unknowable, strange. Why had she chosen a busy intersection for their meeting rather than a coffee shop or a bar or some quiet place? Had she wanted a chance to see him first, without his eyes locked on a door or studying every passerby through a window? Had she wanted a chance to retreat, unseen, if she chose? Why?

"You don't ask questions." Another statement, devoid of curiosity or judgement.

"I don't know what to ask," he admitted.

And part of him was afraid. Their days together had seemed so carefree and fantastic, like a dream, and then it had all fallen apart. _They_ had fallen apart. Now she showed up, years after the day she'd vowed never to see him again, halfway across the world from the last spot she'd kissed him, and sought him out. How long had she searched?

And why?

...

 **2004**

 _'_ _You're dreaming,' she said. 'Stop being a dickhead.' Her eyes crinkled at the corners._

 _Cameron gazed back at her and wondered what was in her mind. Even her insults sent a little thrill coursing through him. He bit his lip._

 _She tilted her head. 'Aw, I'm just playing.' She glanced back into the empty tent. The show was hours away; the main stage and the acrobats' poles and rigging were set up. The booths and stands and smaller tents were ready. Soon the performers would spill out of their dressing rooms – the house clown, the leapers, the animal handlers, the sword swallower and all the rest – and take their positions. But for the moment all was quiet, waiting. Her hand slipped into his. 'Come on.'_

 _He went._

...

To be continued...

Note: thanks to all who have read the previous couple of chapters and were waiting for this. I've been wrestling with it. (Sadly, it's been winning.) But I think I've got a handle now on where the story is getting set to go. And the next part is pretty much written, so I hope to update again very soon!

Second note: I saw a kind review that included a question about the sequel to Recollection. I have started that sequel, but so far it's only about 8 words long. A bit too short to publish. I plan to add some words to it and see where it goes. ;)

Third note: I'm still writing to ABC and making a general pest of myself. I'm also still in touch with the petitions and notice that the signatures are still coming in (for Deception to be renewed/saved/picked up/nominated for an Emmy...). Many international fans are speaking up as well, and I hope they all email Amazon and Netflix and everyone they can think of who might pick up Deception! There still seems to be a good amount of energy, which is nice. Fingers crossed!


	4. Chapter 4

**Deceive: 4**

 **2018**

 _The alley ran a block's length. Dumpsters hunched at back doors. The trash was undisturbed and the air hung with smells of grease and rancid scraps from the restaurants. Nothing stirred as they walked further in, leaving behind even the sounds of traffic from the busy street. When a slight breeze rose, it carried in the warm aroma of coffee from the barista on the corner._

 _"_ _What do you think?" Kay asked, idly. Then the alley was ringing, echoing with an all-too familiar sound, a terrible sharp sound that drove her into action. Training took over and she turned, assessed the situation, got him to cover. Dragged him to cover, wresting the dumpster from its spot against the wall and getting them behind it. She waited for a second shot, weapon drawn, but the echo died away and there was only her own hard breathing._

 _God, it was bad. Pressing her palm flat into the sticky warmth, feeling his blood seep out through her fingers. Her gun still ready but then holstered, unneeded, and her radio in hand. She called for backup, a bus, everything._

Her bedroom was so dark that Kay lay for a moment before realizing that her eyes were open. She squeezed them shut and tried to push the last of the dream from her mind. It was useless: every night she found herself back in that alley, in that horror. And every day she looked over the crime scene photos and her notes, sifting through each detail. She relived it every waking moment; she didn't need to dream about it too.

She listened. Outside her window the city murmured now rather than screeched; the cars moved more slowly and the frustrated horns of rush-hour were all but silent. New York never really slept, but at least it slowed down enough to let its tired inhabitants get some rest. Most of the time.

Swinging her legs out of bed, she sat up and rubbed at a kink in her neck. Her phone was on the bedside table; frustratingly quiet. No texts from the hospital.

 _'No news is good news_ ,' Mike liked to say. ' _Bullshit_ ,' her mind answered. ' _No news is just no news_.'

...

Those days were clear and sharp in his memory. They'd been driving 2 rented vans and following roughly the same route as the Circul Dalca for a couple of weeks, through the Eastern Carpathians, down into Brasov, turning their heads toward Sibiu even as the Brasov crowd's applause was still echoing. The smaller cities and towns between – Codlea, Fagaras, Victoria – to be decided on when they passed through.

"That was a good time," he said, staring out over the harbour. A single tugboat was manhandling a freighter out toward open water, nosing and nudging. The water churned grey in its wake.

She stood beside him, her eyes fixed on some distant point. "Was it good?"

 _It was_ , he thought. It was a good time. The travelling circus had attracted easy crowds throughout the Romanian countryside, and Sebastian Black proved that he was not averse to riding someone else's wake for a little while. The Blacks and their small road crew had been finding rural inns and motor hotels not far from each of the circus' stops, and then announcing their own show to run nearby. The most amazing illusions, brought to these small venues to astonish and delight fresh new audiences.

And the circus seemed pleased with this ad hoc alliance: the manager Vladimir Volkov ( _'Is Vlado, my friends,'_ he insisted) was a lean, industrious man who rarely missed an opportunity. He envisioned _Circul Dalca_ as the foundation for his entertainment empire and spoke enough English to joke with Sebastian about the weather, and he occasionally shared small morsels of his vision – a circus built not of worn tents and portable stands but of huge brick-and-mortar arenas that would swell with eager crowds. Giant cats leaping through hoops, elephants balancing graceful acrobats on their trunks, trained dogs and trick ponies. Freak shows and tumbling clowns and a human cannonball who would never land badly. Permanent locations in every major city, like a franchise. A glorious resurgence of the circus both as it had once been and as it had never truly been imagined, and his name on the trailers, his name on the signs. From time to time he offered the magicians use of a staging area. Apparently, the local towns enjoyed magic almost ( _'Almost!'_ Vlado gleefully stressed) as much as the circus.

The Blacks had attracted crowds, too.

Away from the rigid choreography of their typical shows, away from production values and sophisticated urban venues, they'd performed with a spontaneity that Cameron found exhilarating. It was like a vacation combined with the best learning experience he could have conceived. And the Romanian countryside was breathtaking, ancient, filled with intrigue. He and Johnny had taken turns, in their odd spare moments, slipping out to roam local villages, trying delicacies like cheese _merdenele_ and _covrigi_ – salted bread covered with poppy seeds – and then returning to their rustic lodgings. Their father would bring back traditional meals like _tocanita_ or _sarmale_ and _mamaliga_ , and they would eat in the room while discussing their next, greatest trick.

He remembered the struggle to focus and keep his head down, practicing new routines over and over, learning new ways to present their craft. Simpler ways that lent themselves to simpler surroundings. But she was there to draw his attention, every time they alit in the same area. Selma, daughter of Madame Seda who read tarot and spoke with the dead, and who had come out of darkness to join Circul Dalca many years past. Selma was Cameron's age, perhaps a few months older, and when she watched him with her dark eyes he wondered if she had her mother's sight.

...

 **2004**

 _He felt as though there were eyes on him and glanced about self-consciously. It had been a successful day for Circul Dalca and the Blacks, and there'd been no shortage of laughter while the pyrotechnics crew and concession staff and labourers did their work. The tents and stands came down; the rigging was dismantled and packed and the animals were fed and in their trailers. Cameron, assisting their own small crew in packing away equipment, had found himself pausing to watch more than once. The circus seemed to exist in a sort of never-ending animation, even through the hard work. He found himself envying that kind of spirit._

 _So they'd packed up intending to leave right away for the next town, but low cloud had scudded in to hide the moon and rain had started almost at once. Most of the local roads were unpaved for long stretches and turned sloppy. And the last thing they needed was one of their vehicles stuck in a reeking ditch, so even after the storm petered out they hunkered down to wait for morning. Then they would venture forth, wet rope and canvas stowed, the motley caravan of rattling trucks and RVs followed by the newer rented vans. Their next stop was 6 hours away, and there they would set up anew. For this night they rested._

 _Cameron listened to the howling wind, finding it strangely melodic. There was no one about that he could see, no reason for his anxiety, and yet he slowed himself, kept to the shadows cast by the trailers, and checked around each corner. The manager might have been enthusiastic enough about a loose alliance between kindred performers, but he was a businessman first and Cameron didn't know how sanguine he'd be about a teenage magician sneaking around the camp with his fortune teller's daughter._

 _"So you do come back," she purred from behind him, and he jumped. She was smiling, one lock of her long hair wrapped around a delicate finger. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the hazy light._

 _"Uh, yeah," he chuckled, glancing around again. "I didn't know if you'd be out in this weather."_

 _"I am where you are." The wind caught her hair and set it flowing in waves like black water that framed her pale face. She stepped closer, moving silently. When she smiled again she caught her rosy lower lip between her teeth and worried it almost bashfully. He'd seen enough to know that she was anything but shy. Her dress was a mere slip of cloth draped over her lithe torso, frilling midway down her thighs. She stopped twisting her hair and reached down to play with the hem instead, lifting it and gazing at him._

 _Cameron felt a familiar rush of warmth and wanted to hold her, but they were exposed. Most of the trailer windows were lit and even if he'd seen no one else mucking about the damp grounds, it was probably just a matter of time. He coughed. "I...should we go somewhere else, you know, where no one can see us?"_

 _"Ah," she said. "So you have that on your mind again."_

 _"No!" Cameron gasped, mortified. "I just – I'm just worried that Vlado might not like me hanging around and—"_

 _"So you want to talk about Vlado?" Her smile twisted until it was a sneer. "Maybe you want to spend time with him instead. Listen to his foolishness."_

 _"No," Cameron argued, but it sounded feeble. "I'm just..." He sighed and frowned at her, wondering what to say. What she would say, and if her eyes would crinkle again and she would laugh and tell him she was only playing._

 _She eyed him for a long moment, then her face changed and one eyebrow lifted. "I see you," she called._

 _Cameron turned as someone stepped out from the shadow of a nearby pick-up, and he wanted to groan. It was Alex – Alexander. Selma's brother, older than her by at least a year, with muscled arms and cords that stood out in his neck when he helped to raise or lower the big tent. He was of the circus, but not a performer. One of the hidden workers, those the crowds did not pay to see. His eyes and short-cropped hair were dark, like his sister's, but very little else of her showed in him. The eyes were set a bit wide and he had a broad, smooth forehead, a thin nose, a jutting chin. Prominent cheekbones made his face too angular to be attractive, and his expression seemed to oscillate between bored and angry. Cameron had seen him a few times and Selma had pointed him out. He had never seen Alexander smile._

 _"The magic boy," Alexander sneered, levelling his gaze at Cameron. "Do you lose something, Magic Boy?"_

 _Shaking his head, Cameron offered a cautious smile. "No," he said. "I was just...taking a walk."_

 _"Hm. Very late to walk, Magic Boy. Go home."_

 _"Shut your face," Selma said. "You go." She was standing at his side now, her head up and her eyes flashing._

 _"I should go," Cameron said quickly, hoping to ease the sudden tension. "Have a good night." With a quick smile he turned and headed back down the way he'd come, past the trucks and along the edge of the large empty meadow that only hours before had been filled with performers and the excited crowd. He skirted its tramped earth and dodged puddles along the dirt road as Circul Dalca fell away behind him. Up ahead was a small motor inn, lights and vacancy sign shining._

 _It was late. His father would be annoyed._

...

To be continued...soon!

Note: thanks to any and all who are reading. Apologies for the long delays between updates - real life has been hectic and this story has been difficult to move forward with. I seriously dislike going back and forth between time periods and trying to knit it together. Why, then, do I choose to do it for a story? Sigh.

Second note: the one big petition is still gaining signatures, and there's another petition that seems to be going great guns right now - trying to get Netflix to pick up the show. So I've visited those as often as possible and commented with the people there, and I've also been pestering ABC and hearing from others who are doing the same. At the very least, they will know we're irritated out here. I also saw an email address for a Netflix dude with some authority (Reed Hastings, I believe his name is), and he's supposed to be a good person to spam...er, politely and repeatedly contact.

Cheers!


	5. Chapter 5

**Deceive: 5**

 **2018**

She stepped out of the elevator and breathed more easily. Something about the fluorescent lighting and muted activity of their bullpen always seemed to calm her. Moving to her desk, she slung her coat over the back of her chair and looked at Mike. He had been slogging through the last of the case histories brought up from their archives. If there was any kind of straight line leading from a case the Deception team had worked with them to the shooting, it hadn't shown up yet. Mike was frustrated; he slouched and leaned in too close to the screen. Kay was frustrated as well. There should have been something by now.

"Anything from the hospital?"

"All quiet," Mike replied, eyes never leaving the lines of text. "The guard reported nothing out of the ordinary last night."

Kay studied him. "Hey," she said, and waited for him to glance up.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we've had tunnel-vision on this?"

That got his full attention: he straightened, wincing as his back muscles pulled, and swivelled his chair to face her. "What do you mean?"

"Well…we went right to the idea that Cameron was under imminent threat, that whoever did this would keep trying…."

"If it was the Mystery Woman, that's a fair assumption."

"Yeah, but it's been almost a week, Mike. We leaked his death to the media; we've instituted round-the-clock protection, and nothing has happened. We muscled our way onto this case because it looked like a professional hit—"

" _Looked_ like?" Mike leaned forward. "Kay, the bullet came from a high-powered rifle and we traced the shot to a rooftop 120 yards away. No evidence left behind, nobody suspicious on building security footage and the shooter didn't trigger an alarm getting onto the roof. And last but not least, you were only there because an anonymous informant called and insisted on a meet, and no informant showed up. It still looks professional to me. Are you having doubts?"

"Detective Hill thought it might be a random shooter."

"Detective Hill resented us muscling onto his case."

Kay sighed but had to concede the point. "True. But we haven't found anyone we like in the files, and nothing else has happened to suggest this was part of a larger scheme. And if it _was_ the Mystery Woman, what's the holdup? She isn't one to sit around when things are going according to plan for her."

Mike frowned, nodded. "Maybe she suspects we're on the alert and she's waiting to be sure?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Or maybe…."

"What?"

"Maybe she figures she doesn't need to come after him again because he's not going to…." Mike looked away for a moment, thinking, then took a deep breath and looked back at her.

Kay opened her mouth to argue with him, to remind him of the doctors' cautious optimism. Cameron's vitals hadn't gone downhill in the last 2 days. Barb, senior nurse on the ward, said that was hopeful. Barb knew her stuff, didn't she? The doctors knew their stuff, and they were dealing with a guy who literally trafficked in the art of surprise. But every argument felt like grasping at thin strands of hope. With a noncommittal shrug she turned her focus to what could be done. Cameron and his doctors would have to do the heavy lifting of recovery. She could only figure out who had come after him, and why.

….

She was watching him, and when he turned to her he realized they were standing on the street corner again. The harbour and whirling seagulls were gone, replaced by heavy traffic and people hurrying past. The alley was close by. He couldn't see into it, but he didn't need to see the spot again to know what it held.

"You do not like this place," she said.

He was grateful to have his attention pulled away. "No," he admitted. "I don't like this place."

For what seemed like a long time she watched the cars and said nothing. Then she sighed. "I did not like that place," she said quietly.

"Romania?" He studied her for a reaction. "The circus?"

"Pick either. Both fit."

She stood close to him but closed off, like the alley. He couldn't see in; she was inscrutable and remote. "You didn't like your life?" he asked.

When she moved past him, her dress flowed in black waves.

"Selma," he pressed.

"I had so little but my family, you know. No solidity, no permanence."

"You spent your childhood on the road."

"I depended on Alex…you know what that feels like, old friend. And when I needed the truth I never got it."

A tradesman's truck lumbered past, its giant logo catching his eye. A large cat with faded patterning seemed to be leaping through a hoop or a ring of flames. He watched it drive away and thought about Vlado's ambition for a circus empire. "Were we friends?" he said.

She tilted her head. "We weren't _not_ friends."

He held his breath for a moment, still not looking at her, and then asked the question that had been with him for so long: "Did you really blame me?"

….

 **2004**

 _He wasn't even sure of this town's name…or that it was a town and not a village or hamlet or something else. It sat at a crossroads, the road they were travelling leading on to Sibiu, the other road winding up through thickening trees into the great wooded mountains._

 _They'd arrived just before noon and checked into the only hotel, had a quick lunch in its ratty little café, and run over plans for their next show. Jonathan's nerves were frayed; he was tired of the travel and bored with their surroundings. The sky darkened, churned. And the locals had reported wolf sightings for several nights and were urging caution outdoors. Cameron remembered the howling wind he'd heard in the last town, the sense of being watched. Had it been the wind at all? He'd tromped around outside long after dark, oblivious to anything but the desire to see her._

 _With their window open, overlooking the crossroads that nothing ever seemed to cross, he could hear distant hammering, an occasional shout. Circul Dalca had wasted little time deciding to stop in the tiny community – although there was only a scattering of visible houses, the road up into the hills was supposedly well travelled and populated. Enough people would come down to fill the stands for an evening. Now the crews were setting up for both shows just down the road, not a quarter mile from the old hotel. Cameron could easily slip down there once Sebastian released them, but he dithered instead. He stood at the window listening; he wandered the inn's yellowing halls._

 _He didn't know if he wanted to go before he had to. Johnny had scoffed at his story the night before and told him he'd be better to stay away from that girl. 'Honestly, Cam,' he'd said – 'her brother's a psycho in training. And the whole get-away-from-my-sister routine? They seem a bit too…close, if you ask me.'_

 _Cameron hadn't asked, but point taken. But he remembered her standing beside him, the wind in her hair and her fists clenched at her sides, her eyes fiery. She was like a whirlwind, a storm that exhilarated him and scared him a little. And he couldn't stop thinking of her._

 _Rough laughter jolted him out of his reverie and he realized that he'd left the hotel without conscious thought and was already there, loitering at the far corner of a wide field Circul Dalca had rented. The laughter had come from Davor the Amazing Dwarf, who held a cigarette in his stubby fingers and was talking animatedly with one of the workers. Men and boys swarmed over the field, erecting tents, unloading trailers and roping off restricted areas._

 _And there was Alex. He braced one foot against a metal pole and hauled a heavy rope. As he and the other labourers strained, the large main tent slowly rose. The boys drew their ropes, hand over hand, until the tent was stable. They tied off the ropes and it was done._

 _Alex rubbed his palms down the legs of his dirty jeans. Straightening, he looked back toward the horse trailers. When Cameron followed his gaze he saw Selma there, watching the work. She wore a burgundy dress with frills that fluttered in the breeze. Alex said something to her, turned and walked past the tent toward the road. He plucked a small white wildflower from the grass there and walked back, presenting it to his sister with a dramatic bow. She took it with a soft smile._

 _Cameron watched as the boys went back to work. Selma had slipped away and for a moment he was glad she'd gone. In one breath she would act angry that he didn't come around to spend more time with her, and in the next she would push and sneer at him and then fawn over her surly thug of a brother. He felt frustrated and wondered if Johnny was right. Maybe she was just trouble._

 _Sighing, he made up his mind. He would find her later, after the shows, and insist they talk. If this was the start of something serious he needed to know. And if it wasn't…well, he'd face that fact when he had to._

 _As he turned to leave, he noticed that several girls had arrived and lingered nearby. They wore their hair in long braids; they wore skimpy dresses and smiled demurely at the boys. Their perfumes wafted, cheap and cloying. Tarts, Selma had called the ones in Brasov. Hookers. These girls had the same hungry look; they flirted while skirting the edge of the circus grounds. Cameron glanced at Alex and noticed him watching them, eyes narrowed and lips curled in a sneer._

….

 **2018**

The rhythmic hiss of the machine greeted her and she breathed a silent thank you. Nothing had changed; they could cling to positive thoughts through another night.

Dina glanced up and smiled as she entered. "No change today," she said.

"Good," Kay replied. She gave her a gentle shove. "Now get out and get some rest."

Obliging, Dina pushed herself up from the uncomfortable vinyl chair and stretched. She stepped to Cameron's bedside and laid a hand gently over his. "You hang in there, Sweetheart," she said quietly. With another smile for Kay she gathered her coat and bag and left for the night.

Kay stood for a moment and looked, but a voice inside whispered that it wasn't really him. Cameron Black was animated and full of quirks, careening through life with a grin and a smart remark. This stillness didn't fit him. Dina had said she was reassured by all the equipment – it let her know he was still with them and everything was being done. But all Kay could see was the magnitude of it, the leads, the heart monitor, the rise and fall of the pump that forced air into Cameron's devastated lungs. After the shooting in that damned alley, those hours of anguish while surgeons worked to keep him alive, the last threat she'd expected him to face was post-operative infection.

Within a day he'd developed pneumonia, his breathing laboured and too slow, vital signs trending downward. The doctors had pushed IV antibiotics and waited while his oxygen levels dipped and his fever refused to break, and finally they'd induced a coma and intubated him.

And now they were waiting again as Cameron lingered, bacteria overwhelming his system and fluid filling his airways. He'd progressed into sepsis, which brought the risk of life-threatening shock. The doctors wore grim expressions and said that the will to live could be a powerful thing. They couldn't do anything more.

Kay found none of it reassuring.

….

"Yes," she said. "And no."

He felt like laughing. "You couldn't decide?"

Selma smiled at him. "I wanted to blame you because you were there in front of me and Alex was not. Because he'd been angry after finding us together again and your argument later, and I thought he'd felt upset enough – threatened enough – to run away."

"I guess that's fair," Cameron said.

"No it is not. My brother was deeply flawed and he yielded to that. Leaving without a word was cruel to us." She shrugged despondently. "Alex was always good to me and our mother. He was the man of the house. We never had to worry walking down a street when Alex was there; he protected us and was even kind, in his way. I do not know why he would just go away. I never knew why. And I was angry with you because I could not be angry with him."

Cameron saw her reasoning and remembered how it had been in that little nameless town. He'd been so earnest, so naïvely certain that he'd found true love with a whirlwind of a girl. And after the highs of that certainty, the fall had been devastating.

"Cameron," she said.

He looked at her and thought he saw longing in her eyes.

"You know I would have loved you if I could."

….

 **2004**

 _She smiled when she spotted him, tossed her hair. "You come again."_

 _He joined her at the edge of the great tent. Applause had rung out, echoing off the surrounding hills. Both shows had been a success. Now the audience was gone and the performers and workers were settled in for another night's rest. A bright moon, nearly full, hung low in the sky._

 _"_ _What are you thinking?" he asked._

 _"_ _None of your beeswax." She smirked at him. "Vlado taught me that, do you know? He learns English well."_

 _Typical answer. Cameron glanced around the dark grounds and saw no one. "We need to talk," he said._

 _"_ _Why?"_

 _"_ _Because I want to know you better. I want to know if this is serious, and what will happen next."_

 _Selma was suddenly wary, eyes narrowing. "You are pushing," she said. "You want too much." Turning, she crossed her arms and stood stiffly, head up._

 _He shook his head. "I don't want to make you angry," he explained, "but I can never tell what will set you off anyway. I can never tell much when I'm with you."_

 _She snorted. "So you want to read me and know every little bit. No mystery. No unpredictable things. You are afraid of them and you want them gone."_

 _"_ _Selma," he urged._

 _With a sigh she pivoted back and was pressed against him, arms around his neck. "Come," she whispered. "Let us have fun and forget all that." She kissed him, pushing him up against the tent pole._

 _"_ _So this is very nice."_

 _Selma shoved herself away from Cameron and spun to face the voice. It was Alex, head tilted, eyes fixed on them. For a moment no one spoke._

 _"_ _You are having your fun?" Alex sneered._

 _"_ _None of your beeswax," Selma replied, and smiled._

 _Cameron waited, still leaning against the tent frame where she'd pushed him, and watched as Alex seemed to measure them both up and down. He cast a cautious glance at Selma. She was grinning wider now, eyeing her brother. She seemed defiant, sure of herself._

 _And strangely happy._

 _The wind kicked up around them but no one moved. Alex leered, lurching a bit to one side – he was drunk. Selma wore that strange smile of hers and thought unknowable thoughts. Cameron watched them and listened to the wind and felt like the world was tilting. He wanted to leave._

 _Alex seemed willing to break the spell first; he snorted and pivoted away, melting back into the darkness._

 _Tossing a glance back at him, Selma spoke. "You should go home now." The smile had disappeared._

 _He couldn't think of what to say so he stepped away from the tent and walked back the way he'd come. The wind howled insistently, like a predator, and Cameron suddenly wanted to be gone and not to return. The place was too strange – the town, the circus, the eternal shadow of those damned mountains._

 _Anxious for the hotel and the room and even Johnny's scorn, he hurried past the line of trailers and tents. Lights flickered in a few windows; most were dark. He rounded a corner and stopped dead. Alex. He took a deep breath and returned Alex's stare._

 _The taller boy leaned toward him. He smelled like whiskey and stale tobacco. "You like her, Magic Boy," he hissed. "But she is not yours. Go have your fun with those other girls."_

 _"_ _What other girls?" Cameron asked, and immediately regretted the question. He should walk away, not engage._

 _Alex grinned unevenly. "The girls," he repeated, words slurring. "Those ones who come and watch us. They are filth, those bitches. If they get too close they will steal from you. They will take from their own grandmothers, from a corpse. But they are good for a quick lie-down. Perfect for you, Magic Boy."_

 _Cameron was sick of it – this back and forth, push and pull, and what business did the brother have anyway? He squared his shoulders and dove in. "Don't worry, Alex," he said with mock sympathy. "I'm sure after I leave Selma will pay attention to you again. Does Mommy know you lust after your own sister?"_

 _The taunt landed. Alexander seemed to recoil in shock before his jaw clenched and he leaned forward, seething, almost quivering with rage. He was a creature of habit, gifted with more size and strength than intelligence, but he knew enough to make use of what he had. Cameron held his breath and tried not to cower._

 _But Alex had been warned by both his mother and Vlado, and while the circus manager was no fan of a magician's kid sniffing about, he'd probably be even less impressed with one of his workers starting another fight in camp._

 _Those thoughts seemed to be on Alex's mind, warring with the anger. Cameron waited, silent and still. Finally the other boy sneered; his eyes flicked away and it was over. With a disdainful glance he stalked off, fists still clenched at his sides._

 _Cameron took a moment to breathe and thank his lucky stars, and offered a silent apology to whichever poor soul might cross paths with Alexander next. As he left the circus behind he thought he picked up a sweet, cloying scent on the wind. It teased him for a moment and was gone._

 _..._

To be continued

Notes: Sorry for the long delay! A virus took me out for a bit and I just wasn't vertical enough to type. But at least I could think on the story and work out a few details that were bothering me. So I've just about finished the rest of it. Just need to do some polishing.

Note on the campaign to save Deception. Still at it! I'm back to sending comments to ABC, emailing Amazon/Netflix/etc and generally pestering people. So fingers still crossed.


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